Dark Roman Wine
by HardfacedQueenofMisadventure
Summary: "It may well be cold, but the alcohol in his blood, and his proximity to her, are enough to warm him from within." Short oneshot, inspired by a Snow Patrol song of the the same name.


**This is the first time I've ventured into Sleepy Hollow territory, and definitely the first time I've thought to dip my toes into the strange, dark ocean known as Ichabbie shipping. This oneshot is actually really, really old; I think it's been sitting on my laptop for about a year now. So today I thought "Hey, let's publish this thing. Why not?" So...enjoy.**

* * *

Mild night air, a clear sky full of stars. The fresh, damp smell of the forest. Birdsong and the constant breeze, and the distant, monotone growl of traffic beyond. They've found a clearing, grass and silence offering far more comfort than any four walls can. A place away from the madness that dogs their every waking hour as Witnesses, a place away from duty and destiny, away from crowds and prying eyes, away from thought. Away from reason. A bottle of red wine by their side, half-empty, the heady, rich alcohol quietening their spirits and soothing their minds as they lay there, faces turned towards the clear sky.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Ichabod murmurs, turning a little to face Abbie. She nods in agreement, her only audible reply a faint, relaxed sigh.

"Are you cold?"

"Mm… no. Are you?" At his request, she is resting upon his coat, though the grass is reasonably dry. It may well be cold, but the alcohol in his blood, and his proximity to her, are enough to warm him from within. He could happily stay here forever, forget that they've parked the car close by, forget that day will break in a few hours, forget the destiny that pulls them irrevocably closer and closer to an apocalypse, forget everything but the two of them, the wine, sky and stars. Moments like these are precious, all too rare amidst the chaos that fills their lives now.

"Miss Mills?"

"Hmm?" He turns to her again; her eyes are half-lidded, opening and closing slowly, the wings of a bird too serene to take flight. He imagines pulling her slumbering form into his arms, carrying her home through the woods, the two of them waking to birdsong and gentle sunlight through the windows. He imagines reaching across and taking her hand in his, kissing it, a gesture filled with everything he daren't say aloud to her.

 _He imagines turning onto his side and pulling her warmth into him, their lips connecting in a frenzied fulfilment of passion long dreamt of, but never voiced or realised by either of them…_

"What's up, Crane?" Her voice is soft, drowsy, sleepiness and wine working their combined magic. He's forgotten what it was he wanted to tell her, so he settles for quiet instead, returning his gaze to the starlit sky. She reaches a hand up to the skies, plucking at the stars, a gesture so sweet and innocent it completely captivates him, until she lets her hand drop again.

"You wanna start heading back?" Abbie presses, half-asleep still.

 _Never._ "It is entirely up to you, Miss Mills," he says warmly. _Don't ask me to forsake this moment. Please._

"I could stay a while longer," she decides eventually, resettling herself atop his coat.

"Then I am content to do so as well." _Grace Abigail Mills, I love you._ He could say it. He could. Neither of them are completely sober at the moment, it would be accepted… but could he do it to her? If her were ever to build the courage to confess his feelings, it would have to be at a time when she was capable of supplying a sincere answer. If she spurns him, then so be it.

So instead of speaking, he merely inches closer to her. Not by much, he doesn't dare to, but enough so she'll sense his presence. And in the end it is she who reaches over and takes his hand in hers, squeezing it gently, before impulsively rolling over and slotting herself beneath his arm. It's sudden and impetuous and unexpected and he's tempted to move away, to call it improper and pull away, to pretend that it isn't what he desires most in the entire world right now.

Instead, he merely stays still. Not touching her, but not resisting her either. Letting her find her place beside him, and pretending that the simple touch of her body doesn't fill his soul with a longing that hurts to ignore.

* * *

 ***sigh* Didn't that just leave you with the warm fuzzies? No? Oh...okay, then.**

 **Now that we're done, let me just say thanks for taking the time to read this, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. As always, I'm open for requests (check my profile for my fandoms, see if there's anything that takes your fancy).**


End file.
